


paint me a heaven of love with your bloodied mouth

by swevery



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24985759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swevery/pseuds/swevery
Summary: "i couldn't tell you if she loved her as a god, or as a woman, or as both"
Relationships: Agnes Montague/Jude Perry
Kudos: 10





	paint me a heaven of love with your bloodied mouth

**Author's Note:**

> jude is a nonbinary lesbian bc i am a nonbinary lesbian and i can do that

it was hard to say the last time you had felt something. _truly_ felt something.

sure, the momentary thrill of blowing a lifetime's worth of cash in one night sent an undeniable buzz through you, fingertips tingling as you handed it over. but that wasn’t the same as _feeling_ something. you remembered a time where the feeling of fingers on you, in you, would leave your head spinning. now not even the coke manages that.

your girlfriend had always been entertaining enough, but she was hardly ever going to be a permanent fixture in your life. the fun being over wasn’t a real loss. a mild annoyance, maybe.

perhaps that was why you were spending less time at home and more time in other people’s. anyone willing to cut you a line or spot you a drink. was that where you’d been that day? looking for the comfort of someplace _warm_ after a night of stumbling through the cold and empty? you couldn’t remember - the _how_ it happened didn’t matter, only that it did happen. like a moth to a flame, a lamb to slaughter. to your destruction, no matter _how_ it happened.

she was beautiful.

she made you want to look away, to never stop looking, to burn your own eyes out. at least that would get her attention. hell, she’d probably appreciate it. she was everything you weren’t - tall, lean, soft. you would die for her, if you hadn’t already. kill for her. _live_ for her.

“jude.” she knew your name. when did she get in front of you? “aren’t you tired?” you had never been awake before now. “it isn't fair, is it?” _no._ “all these people, all this power. but what do they do?”

“nothing.”

“nothing.”

that’s all it took for you to become entranced. her hair burned against that pale skin. you remember wondering if it hurt, to be aflame like that. an hour ago you would have scoffed at her blouse, a garish yellow thing. a headache waiting to happen. now, you wanted to see her in it more than you wanted her out of it, though that wasn’t to say your mind didn’t wander.

“you could have power, jude. real power.” you nodded. “it would require sacrifice, but doesn’t everything?”

“who are you?”

she hummed, her painted lips curling into what you thought might have been a smile. “a pariah of destruction, or so i’ve been told.” it was the look she gave you then that made you realise the two of you understood something the world could not, and would not, know.

“the world could do with a little destruction.” was that glow she emanated _pride?_

“and what would you give to make that happen?” you wondered if there was any difference between what you would give for the exhilaration of destruction and what you would give to keep this woman’s gaze on you.

“everything,” you breathed out.

“your humanity?” you want to ask _what_ humanity? you lost yours sometime between the coke and the sex and the realisation that not even that mattered anymore. but you do not, instead you nod, and that appraising look returns.

“such a strange concept, isn’t it?” it’s like the facade falters then. that hum, so melodic, turned electric, bordered on pained. “humanity. do you have it? do i?”

“no.”

“why? because you hurt people? that’s more human than anything.” the word seemed foreign on her lips.

“because i want to do it again. because i didn’t care.”

“even better. humans don’t _truly_ care, not if it isn’t about them. that’s what the sacrifice is for, to make them care. everything they have - freedom, love, autonomy - they just assume it’s given. we can teach them what it’s like to lose it.”

“what would we sacrifice?”

“oh, _everything._ this whole world. we'll burn it down, dance in the aftermath and then start afresh.” she looked at you then, really looked, and it was like she could see everything in you; each girl you’d kissed in between drags of a joint, every time you heard your name from a crowd of colleagues swarming around a desk that was never yours, the heavy rush of relief you felt the first time you wore a binder. then she reached across, hand warm in yours. “together.”

her eyes trapped you in them. even when you went to look away, you couldn’t. they were the only thing about her that struck you as cold. vaguely, you recognised that there were people surrounding you now. shapes crowding you. they also had a flame inside them, but they did not burn like the woman in front of you did. 

“trust me.” you took one last look at her, wishing you were an artist or a poet, something that could capture her as she deserved to be, but you werent. instead, you vowed to worship her with every breath you had.

“i do.”

your head was turned to the side, a woman in front of you. her eyes were dark and latched onto you, but you closed yours and there she was again. foreign hands were on your face, clutching your skin. then came the searing heat. 

you _screamed._

you screamed and you screamed and you screamed. and then you smiled. and you followed.


End file.
